April 20, 1999 / May 24, 2022

     On the day of April 20, 1999, I was being watched by a family friend. I remember eating a pack of Scooby Doo fruit snacks. I didn't understand what was going on exactly, but I knew it was bad. Students were running away while cops were standing around. A body lay on a sidewalk and another across a grassy field. Eventually someone climbed through a broken window and there was blood. I was impacted by that day, as just a child. That is the day I learned that going to school was not as safe as I'd once believed.

The family friend who was watching me didn't approve of the TV show Rugrats. She brought it up to my mom on multiple occasions due to the fact that my little brother and I quite enjoyed the show and often watched it together. Yet there I was, watching death and chaos unfold right in front of me. My parents were in Utah at that time. I remember being so scared they were hurt. She had to explain to me that Littleton, Colorado and Springville, Utah were not as close to each other as I was certain they were. 

Rugrats v. Columbine; priorities of Conservatives never make sense.

I haven't even begun to process yet another loss of young lives. A preventable tragedy in a country that can't seem to put life before ego. Violence brought upon the world most often by men, although we are told that isn't the case. The violence is downplayed and excuses are made. Both of which result in the never ending cycle of loss in the form of murder, abuse and rape. We hear and read people bellowing about abortion harming life yet *motions around* here we are.

It's hard to feel hope in a world, and more specifically a country, that is detrimentally hopeless. As a woman or living, breathing child, it has become quite clear: we don't matter.

Johnny and Marilyn

Johnny Depp and Marilyn Manson are friends. complete sentence

There should be no follow up to that. We shouldn't have to explain what that means. We shouldn't have to prove it. Yet here we are, judging Amber Heard; just as we've judged the women from before. (Leave Evan Rachel Wood alone.) I used to think I'd never be "the kind of woman" who ends up in an abusive relationship and that I could never possibly be my mom. Yet, it happened on multiple occasions. In fact, those that abused me most harshly, I loved. I was in love with their darkest parts and made them my own. I wrapped their issues around and felt the warmth of certain destruction; my familiar. I came from an abusive childhood. My father hurt me in every way. At a very young age I lost sight of healthy love. So I ran to those that mirrored what I'd always seen; sometimes I'd try to fix them and on the unlucky days they'd try to take me down with them. Addiction, abuse, a roller-coaster of emotions that started to lead to only one exit: Anger. I began to lash out, right on back. Then I'd carry the weight of believing that I was truly the monster in any scenario. Further and further I fell, until I almost didn't return. Sobriety was supposed to be my savior (laughable) but instead it became just a stepping stone, to the realization that I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't accept this treatment, because it was and is wrong. We cannot keep normalizing "crazy women" and we certainly cannot continue to judge the women who are speaking out. She could be you. She is me. I recognize so much of myself in Amber Heard. I've thrown things. I have verbally abused. I have finally hit back. Back, being the key word here. Between the mental health issues, trauma, and being surrounded by drug use; I became what I saw around me: I was chaos, and I was surrounded by harm.

When we speak out we question ourselves. When we try to leave we get pulled back in. A small part of me still questions that night he told me I had eaten a cereal that I had never had before. Had I actually eaten that cereal before?

The answer is no.

The answer no evades you over time. What's the point in saying no? They won't listen. By losing your ability to say no you are losing your ability to exist as your true self. So you become a shell of a human. Their thoughts must be right because you can't remember, and they definitely will change, you have to make it work. You love them. You need them. It's crazy how much you can remember once you're out. You start to realize that maybe your memory isn't so bad after all. You realize that you can do a lot of things without them. It becomes so blatantly clear that things are actually easier without them.

Then you have to decide what to do when you leave. Do you stay silent and move on? All the while knowing that there is a new target. Or do you speak? In the case of Amber Heard, she was never going to be allowed to release herself from his grip. So she had to face the world; lay out her trauma on a silver platter. Then the world picked up that platter and clonked her on the head with it.

Sure, maybe she's crazy. I've been called crazy many times. I too have carried the title of "slut", "skank", "prude", "bitch", "gold-digger". Even with all of those labels there are some things you can't change: I was abused.

2 Rooms

    You know when you can sit alone in a room and know that it is exactly where you're supposed to be? Yeah, that feeling, it is beautiful. I treasure these nights, because I know how easily they can flip. I've had so much directed at and around me since leaving Sacramento. It was supposed to be a time of healing, and sadly, now my best friend is along for this astronomically fucked-up ride. It sucks. How can I be capable of helping her when I can barely help myself right now? I want to maniacally scream "Let us grab my bat and go Brooke Hulk on these pieces of shit!" No. That can't be it. So I will sit here, and I will write; knowing my best friend is close by. Knowing that we are both so much more than "crazy", "moody", and unworthy of love and respect. We have been wronged for the last time.

The other night Cassandra told me that I have my shit together and my impulse was to laugh, then I realized that the reaction had been programmed into me. It became a joke, because so many people thought I couldn't do it, or even worse: they didn't want me to. It's not a joke; never has been. I'm gathering all of my shit and getting it together.

Nobody puts baby in the corner.

xo
-D

BACK AGAIN

She was going up

As he was going down

So he came to her

He came on her

Made her his

Always beneath,

But never above

She started going down

Pleasured him just the same

His love wrapped ‘round her throat;

Reality seen through a rosy stain

Passion driven to worship

All of the flags now a bloody resentment

Passages littered with bruises

Esteem desiccated; cracked

She needed the pills to conquer those hills

Then stumbled upon a Sunset

A profound new day welcomed her

Belief beget clarity

Knives out, he's always been the man

Cut, clip, nick, gash

His rage will never grip her again

What once was devotion, now a lesson

Know your significance;

Believe in that worth

Always bet on you first

Better By Myself

…and I could finally breathe again…

Sunday

Find Peace

-D

Mother's Day

    Today I find myself sitting outside, just a few blocks from where I temporarily reside. It is Mother's Day. I have The Salt Lake Tribune strewn by my side with "Is access to abortion in Utah about to end" in bold, my anxiety is screaming within me. My food doesn't seem as appetizing now that it sits in front of me. Online I am reading that it is the fault of all of those who didn't vote for Hilary Clinton. I am reading that this isn't a big deal, and everyone is blowing this out of proportion. There are wives who suddenly have discovered the man they've been married to for 15+ years isn't quite as great as they once thought. 

If you find yourself sitting across the table from a man, ask him what his thoughts are on abortion. There isn't a "too soon" only a too late. Having just wasted 3 years of my life with someone who refused to ever get a vasectomy because it was a surgery, and it would hurt yet said if "it" mattered that much then I should just get my tubes tied; I must plead with anyone reading this: do not be me.

He and I both knew early on that we did not want children. Through the ups and downs of birth control, the pain experienced after intercourse, the worry that my IUD had moved through my insides and that I was exploding; I finally pleaded with him to please get a vasectomy. He refused. Let me repeat myself: he did not want children. He also did not know how many women he had impregnated previous to our relationship. When he brought up that there could be a chance we (he) would be contacted anytime down the road for child support I nearly lost my shit. Still he refused to get a vasectomy. He hated using condoms. I can't make sense of it even now.

I've had an abortion. Some may see that as wrong, selfish, or murder. Today is Mother's Day and I sit alone. My mom is somewhere in Utah County. For me personally, I knew I wouldn't be able to give a real, actual living being what that being would deserve. So before the thing inside of me became a life I put a stop to proceeding. My mother gave birth to 4 children, with an abusive man dictating our whole existence. There are days where I resent her for bringing me into this world. Who has the right to tell me and any womxn that our purpose is to be a mom. What does that even mean? I look around me and I see shit parents everywhere.

My abortion is not a dirty secret. It is a success. I did the right thing. So no, we aren't blowing anything out of proportion. My choice over my body shouldn't be something voted on, especially by men. My body and the healthcare needed is a right. Hilary Clinton is owned by men. This isn't about voting for a Democrat over a Republican; they are essentially the same force.

Fuck that shit. Fuck this shit.

Fuck This Shit

 

fuck this shit

I've Had an Abortion

    It's quite terrifying to be back in a state that will surely stomp on my rights as a Womxn. So let me make it clear right now: I have had an abortion. It is my right to decide if I am ready and willing to give birth to a baby and then raise that baby into a healthy, happy adult. 

If you don't want an abortion, then do not get an abortion.

I swore I'd never "be one of those women" but as I stared down at that pee stick and yelled "FUCK" repeatedly; I understood how exactly harmful that way of thinking can be. We cannot possibly know what it is like until we are there. This is where empathy comes into play.

Abortions are not fun. Abortions are not 'an easy way out'. Abortions affect us all differently, and denying access to abortions will impact the communities we live in. The wealthy have access to whatever they want regardless of which laws are passed. This is about the working class. This is about taking away our choice for our own body. We are seen as product on a production line, with our bodies being used for labor and re-populating the labor force. The wealthy want us unprepared. They want us beneath them, they want us struggling, and getting by paycheck-to-paycheck. I say no more.

MY BODY, MY CHOICE.

WE ARE WOMXN.

#EndForcedMotherhood

I matter. You matter. We matter.

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